


Words and Deeds

by FightingForms



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftercare, Crying During Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Punishment, Rough Sex, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightingForms/pseuds/FightingForms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben pays for his words against Charles Lee (and his men) in bed with Bradford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words and Deeds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at Turn Kink.

Ben stormed into the tent, practically knocking it off its pegs. Bradford followed, icy calm in a way that should have made Ben nervous.

Then again, Ben never did things the way he was supposed to, though he had at least followed Bradford’s order to go to his tent. 

“You want revenge, I suppose?” Ben spat, pacing as much as he could in the narrow confines of the tent. “What will you do? Punch me? Recommend Washington send me to Boston after all?”

“Tempting as those possibilities are, Ben, no.” Bradford took out a knife, watching Ben’s eyes widen into horror and, thank goodness, disbelief. So, he may believe, as he’d just explained to an entire company, that Charles Lee and his men were traitorous demons, but he didn’t truly believe Bradford would cut him. 

Bradford should not have been as relieved about Ben’s faith in him as he was, considering he was still practically incandescent with rage and had come this close to bloodying Ben’s nose.

He held the knife out to Ben, handle first. “Since you’ve behaved like a child, I want you to go out and cut a switch for me. There should be some trees left in this accursed place, even with all the new buildings for winter.”

Ben’s look of incredulity deepened and he stepped back. “No”

Bradford raised a brow. “You don’t tell me ‘no.’”

“I tell you no in the same way General Washington tells General Lee no,” Ben seethed.

Ben clearly meant to antagonize Bradford into a punch, but Bradford was by now well acquainted with Ben’s strategies and didn’t rise to the bait. “What would General Washington think of your performance now, I wonder?” he asked.

Ben dropped his gaze, clearly remembering past reprimands from the General. Bradford hoped those reprimands hadn’t been like the ones he was about to deliver; only he should see Ben like—well, it wouldn’t do to be jealous over possibilities now. He needed to focus.

“I won’t cut a switch,” Ben said firmly, but without much heat.

“You will. After that display, you want to get fucked, you’ll be beaten first,” Bradford said bluntly, and held the knife out to Ben as a challenge, but also as an invitation. Ben had crossed a line, but it wasn’t one that couldn’t be atoned for. He could, of course, refuse, but he would then lose whatever it was they shared. And Bradford had been Ben’s first; surely neither of them wanted him to move on to his second?

Ben glared, twin spots of color on his cheeks, and he made no move to take the knife.

Bradford’s life would have been much simpler without Ben in it, but he found himself nudging him toward taking the punishment and staying with him. He told himself that it was only because he needed to vent his frustration at Ben’s earlier words, nothing more. “What’s the matter? Surely you know how to cut a switch,” he taunted. “I doubt the mouth on you is a recent development, and you can’t be afraid of it.”

Ben’s glare intensified to previously unknown levels, but he reached for the knife at last, fingers brushing Bradford’s, a spark running between them. 

He turned to go, practically stomping out. Bradford was tempted to give his retreating rear a pat to prepare him for what was to come, but stopped himself just in time. He’d just given Ben a knife and was under no illusions that he was now fully submissive, so antagonizing him just now would be a mistake.

Ben slipped back into the tent, quiet as a scout, a marked contrast to his earlier entry. The rod he held might have had something to do with his stealth, though he had not bothered to strip it of extraneous leaves and twigs, wanting to make its use slightly less obvious.

Bradford could well understand Ben’s reluctance to broadcast what was going to happen in this tent, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to capitalize on his embarrassment. 

“This is a good selection,” he said, turning the proffered rod this way and that, judging its weight and flexibility. “You neglected to strip it, however. For that, you’ll be over my knee while I take care of it for you.”

There was another, shorter, battle of wills which ultimately resulted in Ben being divested of his trousers and put over Bradford’s knee, bare bottom raised while Bradford trimmed the switch, discarded twigs falling on Ben’s bottom when Bradford’s hand didn’t. 

Bradford wound up being grateful that Ben had not trimmed the switch, as having him over his knee during the trimming proved to be a most effective and humiliating precursor to the punishment to come. Ben did not want to be exposed over Bradford’s knee and soundly spanked whenever Bradford took a break from trimming. However, he didn’t want Bradford to finish preparing the switch, either. 

When it was finished, Bradford placed the switch near Ben’s nose and continued to spank, each smack just retribution for Ben’s remarks, but not enough, not nearly enough, even as Ben squirmed and sweated under his hand.

Ben was uniformly red by the time Bradford allowed him to rise. Bradford had expected more protest about the upcoming switching, but Ben looked at the ground, clearly wishing it was over. He was beautiful, Bradford allowed himself to observe, flushed and on the verge of penitence, biting his lip red to match his bottom. 

Bradford wasn’t going to stop until he’d beaten and fucked the insult of Ben’s words out of him, but something in his stance, in his refusal to meet Bradford’s eyes made him pause for a moment. 

“You remember your word?” he asked sternly, determined to remind him both that there was a way out if he needed it and that what was coming would be harsh, harsher than anything that had happened to him thus far. 

“Yes,” Ben said, eyes still on the ground.

Bradford sighed impatiently. “I think you mean ‘Yes, sir,’ and I know you know you’re supposed to say it now to prove you remember.”

“France,” Ben said steadily, looking up at Bradford with a question in his eyes, needing some reassurance.

Bradford was not in the mood to give it to him, not yet, not when the fury over Ben’s words still roiled in his blood. “Good. Now get that ass bent over the bed,” he said and picked up the switch.

Ben held his gaze for a moment longer, trying to determine exactly what he was in for. Bradford determined not to give him the satisfaction, and Ben eventually bent, offering his bottom. 

He wasn’t offering it enough for Bradford, who wanted every inch of it to burn with the fury and embarrassment he still felt. “Spread those legs farther,” he ordered, determined to lash sensitive inner thighs as well.

Ben’s shoulders tensed, but he did as he was told, widening his legs to the point where Bradford could just make out his pucker. 

Bradford began the thrashing at close to full strength; Ben had been warmed up, after all, and anyway, this was a punishment. Bradford wanted to hear that it hurt, that Ben was sorry, that the welts he was creating up and down Ben’s backside were being felt.

Ben was being uncharacteristically silent, however. Bradford couldn’t have that. Even though there was a bit of kicking and a lot of squirming, without sound it was like he was beating a bolster. 

“So, you’re worried people will hear?” he asked after a particularly vicious swipe to Ben’s thighs. “You didn’t have any trouble with the entire camp hearing your disrespect to Lee’s command, so you shouldn’t have any trouble with them hearing you getting your just desserts like a naughty boy.”

Ben yelped, shook his head and stamped his feet at the next strokes, hands fisting the sheets. 

“Oh, if only they could see this, your bare ass in the air, rippling under every stroke. I can see your hole sometimes when you kick your feet, did you know? It just makes me whip you that much harder, imagining that heat surrounding me inside out.”

Ben moaned, thighs straining with the effort to keep from kicking. Bradford grinned. “I bet they’re outside the tent right now listening to me take you apart, welting your disrespectful ass, giving you what you deserve.”

“No, please,” Ben whispered brokenly as he squirmed. 

It wasn’t his word, so Bradford continued, only stopping when he was in danger of breaking the skin. 

Both of them were panting hard when it was over. Bradford threw the rod down, pushing Ben back over when he’d started to rise, thinking they were done.

“Stay in position,” he snapped at Ben, stopping for a moment to retrieve a tin of grease. He ran a slick hand over his cock, then grabbed a welted cheek and pulled it to the side, shivering at its heat and unfamiliar texture. Ben’s bottom was usually beautifully smooth; it was now hot to the touch and rough with welts. 

Ben let out a pained moan that Bradford ignored, desperate to be in that heat, to finish the punishment. He ran a teasing finger around the pucker, encouraging the muscle to relax, then rammed his finger roughly in once, twice, then pulled back and inserted his cock with one swift thrust.

Ben sucked in air like he’d been punched, back arching, every muscle tensing. This was the first time Bradford had hurt him during sex. He’d been spanked before, had had his wrists held down so they bruised, but Bradford had always prepared him thoroughly before taking him, teasing his spot just so, fingering him until all he knew how to do was writhe and beg.

It burned a little when Bradford pulled out to push roughly in; Ben’s passage wasn’t slippery enough to allow for easy thrusting. And he was making noise now in a way he hadn’t during the thrashing, whimpering at every thrust and making pained “ah ah ah” sounds that burned away the last of Bradford’s anger. 

Damn it. Bradford needed to see Ben’s face, to kiss him. He pulled out, ordering Ben to get onto his back, and surreptitiously put a copious amount of slick on his cock. “Shhhh, legs over my shoulders,” he soothed, kissing away the tears that silently rolled down his cheeks. “I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

He had been relieved to find that Ben was at least half hard, and stroked him with his slick hand before positioning Ben’s legs over his shoulders and re-entering slowly, kissing him through it and gentling him much as he had the first time.

Afterwards, they couldn’t be separated even to clean up. Bradford needed Ben’s touch and was relieved to find that Ben needed him as well, and that he’d allowed himself to be curled against Bradford, head on his chest. He was still crying soundlessly, tears tickling Bradford’s chest as they trickled down. Bradford stroked his back, both of them too overcome to speak. 

“I expect you need spoiling,” Bradford said at last, voice rusty.

Ben nodded against him. Bradford pressed a kiss to the top of his head and moved to get up, only to meet grumbled resistance from Ben, who was not in favor of being dislodged.

“I need to check you for damage,” Bradford said gently. 

Ben squirmed, unwilling to be exposed again after the humiliation of the past hour. 

“If you’re hurt I need to make you better, Ben. Please.”

At the raw need in Bradford’s voice, Ben relented, letting his legs fall open. Bradford spread Ben’s cheeks as gently as he could, wincing at what he saw. Ben’s opening was puffy and raw. At least it wasn’t bleeding. He pressed a kiss to it, grinning as Ben tensed in pleasure. A few gentle laves around the rim with his tongue, just enough to clean his own seed out of him, was enough to make Ben spill again.

“You’ve never done that before,” Ben said, opening his eyes a crack after he’d been cleaned and settled back in Bradford’s arms. 

Bradford knew he meant more than the tongue at his opening. “I know. You’re….how do you feel?”

“Like I got whipped and fucked raw,” Ben said. After a beat, he added with a hint of mischief “And like you care for me.”

“Care for Washington’s man? Never,” Bradford said, wincing at the relief that drowned out his own attempt at levity. After a beat, he asked, “Did you mean them? Those things you said about General Lee?”

Ben regarded him warily, tensing. “I don’t think I can take another switching right now, William.”

Bradford sighed. “You have my word that your ass won’t pay for anything you say in bed tonight.”

“What about my face?”

“Your face and all your body parts and your hair are all hereby granted immunity.”

Ben had been teasing--the first true smile had lit up his face for the first time that night-- but he now regarded Bradford solemnly. “I should not have used those words and spoken in that manner, but you need to leave his service, William. I can’t tell you more, but if you are a true patriot, you need find a new assignment as quickly as possible.”

Bradford stiffened. Ben had said more than enough. But he found he didn’t want to silence him, this time.


End file.
